And that the reason I hadn’t was that I had been operating under the assumption that softening the edges of a true thing made it easier for someone to accept.
What I had learned was that softening the edges just made it easier to ignore.
So, I was going to say it directly.
“Your family treats our home like a hotel,” I said.
Not maliciously.
I don’t think they mean harm.
But the effect is the same regardless of intent.
I come home not knowing who will be there.
I don’t get consulted about guests.
When I express discomfort, I’m described as cold or unwelcoming.
And when we discuss it, you agree with me and nothing changes.
I held my coffee mug in both hands.
“That’s not a logistics problem. That’s a priorities problem. And the priority that’s consistently losing is me.”
Marcus was quiet for a long time.
The kind of quiet that is not thoughtful but defensive.
The silence of someone sorting through available responses, looking for one that might diffuse without conceding.
Finally, he said, “My family is important to me.”
“I know that,” I said.
“They’ve always been like this. It’s how they are.”
“I know that, too,” I said.
“My question is whether how they are is compatible with what I need, and whether that’s something you want to work on or whether it’s something you’ve decided is simply fixed. That this is how your family operates and I need to adjust to it.”
He looked at me.
“I don’t think it’s fair to make me choose.”
“I’m not asking you to choose between me and your family,” I said.
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